Lucidity (4 page)

Carly had nodded, standing silently in what passed for Vic’s lobby. She took in their surroundings with eyes as glassy as the huge elk’s head over the cold stone fireplace, and he’d never seen such a forlorn expression on her lovely face. The woman needed a hot meal and a good night’s rest. She looked as if a long, heartfelt hug with a few comforting words would reduce her to tears.

Angry that he couldn’t even make the offer, he hoisted the bags higher, helped himself to his usual keys behind the desk and gently nudged her toward the stairway.

Most of the few customers Vic handled were people on their way to better places. Or the men who came fishing for the steelhead trout stocked in spring and fall in the manmade lake five miles down the road. Parker had met the old renegade on just such an expedition, and this B&B suited his meager needs.

But the bald beams and uneven parquet floors accented with shoddy, almost impossibly beige furniture gave the place a masculine air that left Carlotta looking decidedly out of place. He couldn’t imagine her haunting these sullen hallways wearing one of her fairylike gowns. It would crush her spirit.

And whether she expressed her feelings or not, he felt them for her. She seemed polite but shy in Vic’s presence, not her usual animated self at all. Parker could barely hear her footsteps behind him as he led her to their suite.

“Do we really have to stay here?” she whispered. “It feels cold and clammy, and there’s a dead animal hanging on the wall. Couldn’t we drive on a little farther? Maybe pitch a tent outside? Sleep in the car until spring really comes?”

She sounded exhausted, nearly defeated. There was no way he would allow her to take a single step more than necessary. “You’ll be safe here. That’s all that counts right now.”

She didn’t argue the point. That was proof enough that she was damn near ready to drop. “We both need rest. Nobody knows about this place, and the old fella’s good at minding his beeswax. And, when prodded, he makes the best omelets east of the Rockies.”

Barely an hour later, settled into the largest of the three suites, Parker watched her devour a late-night version of one of Vic’s special dishes and rip into a second with a hearty appetite, wondering how she could be so calm.

“Sorry if I seem to be stuffing my face,” she murmured, as if she’d read his mind. “I’m not sure why I’m so hungry. Maybe it’s just getting some of this load off my mind, y’know? Having somebody to talk to about this mess.”

Great. He was glad one of them was feeling relieved.

Carlotta Marie Phelps. Born twenty-three years ago in New Mexico to a middle-class mother. Her file said she was five feet five inches tall with an average build. In truth, she was a series of luscious curves that required a crotch adjustment every time he watched too closely. Her papers also described her hair and eyes as brown, but there it was wrong too. In the single-shaded lamp of their small common room, the long hair that fell nearly to her waist was a tumble of chestnut and cinnamon swirls, her eyes a rich nutmeg slashed with accents of antique gold.

She was unfocused, undisciplined and frequently a pain in the ass. But she was also a natural at the fine art of temptation, even when she wasn’t trying.

Despite his own need for sleep, he sipped coffee, appetite shot to hell. After her revelation blew him out of the water on the way here, she’d chosen to remain silent for the rest of the trip—leaving him with more than enough to think about. Enough to stop his sarcasm cold.

The asteroid was coming. And it was bringing hell on earth with it.

If what she’d told him was true, she was more than just beautiful. The secret she kept made her far more dangerous than he’d ever imagined. “We need to talk, Carly.”

“Sounds like you’re breaking up with me.” She took a swig of diluted orange juice. “Was I that bad in bed?”

She would be fabulous in bed. He had no doubt of that. Hell, he could imagine spreading her out on the table and losing his mind in the taste of her right now. “I thought you wanted me to take you seriously.”

“Is that why you’re not eating? So we can talk? Can’t we do both?”

Okay, maybe conversation was a safer way to go than what he’d been thinking. “Later.” When his mind wasn’t burning with the idea of burying his face between her thighs and licking her until she screamed. “The food will keep. They’re just eggs. Good eggs, but not exactly filling. I’d kill for a grilled steak about now.”

“You should make a point of having one. And you should make it very soon.”

The warning behind that tone was unmistakable. For somebody who never wanted to know the details of all this, he was about ready to strangle her to get them. “Carly?”

“I know. We need to talk.”

They were seated at a white-wicker bistro table with matching chairs before the room’s large patio window. Beyond the glass the night was a bleak landscape of grizzled snow spread beneath the thick, dark cream of night. It was like staring into the abyss. But at least nothing concrete was falling from the sky.

Yet.

Their host’s amenities were basic at best. The breakfast nook was barely large enough for two people to navigate, but it contained a coffeemaker, small fridge and—good ol’ Vic—a well-stocked minibar. A terrace, one shared bath and two small bedrooms completed their sumptuous suite. They’d take turns showering, and Parker would never turn on the lights in his sleeping quarters. Having everyone think they were sharing a bed made life a little simpler.

The floor needed a good refinishing, and the curtains were a little too sheer for his taste. Ancient steam radiators heated the room well enough, hissing an edgy song, silver accordions along the blank vanilla walls. Not exactly living large, but it wasn’t the worst place they’d ever stayed. Maybe he’d risk taking her somewhere nicer after this. She deserved that, and more.

But for now, safe haven or not, Parker still found himself glancing outside, making sure there were no approaching cars or wayward flashlights cutting through the night.

They ate by the light of the bare bulb overhead, almost quietly, as if afraid to disturb…the truth? At least she seemed more relaxed, and a bit of color had returned to her cheeks. One of his greatest fears was that she might get sick at some point. Laying siege to some poor country doctor’s office wouldn’t go over well with the brass, but he’d do it if necessary. He’d do damn near anything to keep her safe.

Parker leaned across the tiny table, speaking carefully. Gawd, he hoped she wasn’t insane. If the people he worked for had saddled him with a nutcase, he would go back to Washington and beat the shit out of somebody. “This information you claim to have about the big rock? Where’d you get it?”

“From the same people who hired you. At least, I assume they are.” She shrugged, stabbing at her omelet. “Hard to say when nobody wants to step up and tell the truth.”

“And who would these people be?”

“Agents representing a coalition of governments, large and small. They’ve banned together to provide funding and security for the project. So far they’ve managed to keep everything out of the military’s hands and provide protection for the One Hundred. How long that’ll last is anybody’s guess.”

“And your immediate superior’s name?”

“I wouldn’t tell you that any more than you’d tell me yours. Because then we’d have to kill each other, and that’d leave an awful mess for Vic.”

She almost made him smile.

“They’ve kept this secret from the public for over two years, Parker. An amazing feat in this age of hackers and whistle-blowers.” She frowned. “The problem is that impact will occur in less than two weeks. It won’t be a secret for much longer.”

Jesus
. The National Security Council official who’d recruited him had told him this job was of earth-shattering importance. He certainly hadn’t taken the guy
literally
. “If I assume what you say is true—and that’s a big
if
—how do you and your ragtag gang fit into this grand conspiracy? What’s your story?”

“Well, let’s see. When I was a little girl—”

“Carly.” A small bit of the grated cheese she’d sprinkled on her omelet clung to her lower lip. Without thinking, he reached over to brush his thumb along the fullness of it. Amazing that anything could be so incredibly soft and inviting. It wasn’t the first time he wondered what it would be like to kiss her. These were lips to be tasted, taken, bruised in the agony of rutting heat. And that wouldn’t be nearly enough. What would it be like to have them wrapped around his throbbing cock, hot satin on steel, draining his body of every last tormented drop of need?

Parker snatched his hand away, pretending to ignore her surprised expression. He was stressed. That was all. He’d held back wanting her for much too long. And, apparently, the sight of that little light in the sky had sent more than his mind reeling. What if she was telling the truth? What if disaster
was
right around the corner? He hadn’t touched bases with his family in a while and had no friends outside of the service. No one close who would mourn for him—if they managed to survive themselves.

Yeah, he’d always done his duty. Now, it didn’t seem to amount to much of a life. “Since the destruction of the world is imminent, why don’t we skip the bio and cut to the chase?”

“Right,” she whispered, her eyes large and liquid. Abruptly shaking her head, she dropped her fork, all business. “The crap about the ‘gene experiment’. I suppose you’ve believed half the stuff the rags say?”

Parker shrugged, tasting his brew. Vic was an omelet savant, but his coffee was liquid shit. “The idea of a group of special people secluded in a top secret lab somewhere in Siberia would make a great TV movie.”

“Of course. And it must be true because the Russians are so lax about leaking information, right?” Her mouth twisted into a wry smile. “I can’t even remember to put my coat on, big guy. Do you honestly think I would’ve survived
Siberia
?”

He hadn’t given any of it serious thought. It was smut for the masses, no concern of his. They made up facts if they didn’t have them, and nobody seemed to know anything about these people. “Supposedly, the lab gig was an experiment gone wrong, producing genetically altered freaks of nature with unnatural abilities—aka the One Hundred. And I only remember that much because—” He coughed, choking on his words. Swear to God, once he got through this, he was never gonna take on another female client.

“Because what?”

“Uh…because Shep said genetically altered puss—er, coochie was about the only kind he’d never had.”

Her gentle laugh lent more color to her cheeks, and his heart heaved into his throat. Damn, she was pretty.

“Do you believe them? The stories they tell about us?”

He didn’t want to. Hell, when they were alone like this, when he could drown in the depths of those dark eyes, he was inclined to believe anything she said. “I don’t know. Why don’t we stop discussing the lies so you can tell me what the truth is?”

“It’s all very simple, really.”

He touched me.

Not in a protective way or to chastise her, and not to get her into motion as he did when a threat was imminent. He’d actually touched her as a man intrigued by a woman might.

Carly licked her lips, trying to calm the nervous fluttering of her stomach. Such silliness. She couldn’t let such a simple gesture affect her. He was probably horny, and she was feeling vulnerable. Loneliness and isolation were the only things drawing them together.

She could only be so honest with him, after all. Against orders, she would talk about the experiment, the One Hundred, and the worldwide danger to them all. But to tell him how much more she really wanted from him, that she could barely sit this close without wanting to jump his bones, was courting complications. And they had enough to deal with already.

Besides, she’d never agreed with her superiors about keeping this secret from the populace. And this man who regularly risked his life for her certainly deserved the truth.

“I am what’s called a lucid dreamer. That is, a person who, while dreaming, is not only aware that they are, but they’re often able to control the dream itself.”

He gave her a long, blank stare, as if waiting for her to get to the real point. Okay, this was not going to be easy if he couldn’t believe this
was
the point. “The gift wasn’t produced in a laboratory. It’s not unnatural, not even all that unusual. A significant percentage of the general population has the ability.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. Haven’t you ever found yourself in the middle of a dream and—”

“I don’t dream.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does.”

“Then I guess I don’t remember them.”

She blinked, at a loss for what to say. Most people experienced dreams for at least two out of every eight hours of sleep, three to five per night. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to be totally unaware of such a huge part of one’s existence. “I’m sorry. How very sad for you.”

“Sleep is for resting. Anything else just disturbs the process.”

“Dreams are part of the process, whether we like it or not. They give us a chance to let our imaginations soar, to live in different worlds, learn the secret language of our minds, our spirits.” She paused, feeling his detachment as dead space between them. Lord, she didn’t want to start lecturing the man. But how was she supposed to reach someone who’d so firmly grounded himself in denial? “I could teach you. It would be fun! Remembering and understanding them just takes a bit of practice. Honestly, Parker, with a little instruction and some relaxation techniques, I think you’d love it, lucid or not. Once this is all over and everything’s returned to…” Her voice dissipated, and she swallowed hard.